The arena held its breath.
Kael stopped.
Not to reset.
But to submit.
Because when Elijah Rainn moved—
Everything else became background.
Like a ripple through still water, players shifted. Forest didn't need a signal. Elijah was the signal.
His walk was rhythm.
His gaze, command.
A pivot here. A cut there. Hands twitched. Shoulders aligned. It wasn't basketball anymore—it was gravity.
Elijah didn't dribble.
He didn't sprint.
He simply stepped.
Into the paint.
Through chaos.
Around defenders who thought they were ahead of him until they weren't.
He glided past Evan who reached out too late.
He leaned through Ryan's help side, reading him like a cracked-open book.
Then, as Lucas rotated
Elijah looked him in the eye.
Just once.
Not with malice.
Not even with intensity.
Just a look that said:
"You finally reached my level."
And as Lucas set his stance
Elijah did not flinch.
"Now."
